


Wait

by theLazarus



Category: Def Leppard
Genre: Drunk confessions, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Sweetness, but really major fluff, hungover Joe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27281788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLazarus/pseuds/theLazarus
Summary: Joe's drunk dialing turns out to be shockingly sincere, even in sobriety.
Relationships: Joe Elliott/Rick Savage
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Wait

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this last week while feeling particularly sappy...what's new?

Sav sank down easily into the chair next to Joe, his sort of crumpled form at the end of the table coveting a cup of steaming tea, knuckles curled around the ceramic, bangs hanging in his eyes. No cream in the tea, Sav noted, but a big slice of lemon was floating in it, drifting off to one side. 

“So, we’re just going to ignore the fact that you drunk-dialed me last night to tell me you love me?” he asked, his eyes scanning over Joe as he groaned.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, we are.” Joe whipped his hair back then grimaced, letting his head drop a bit, shoulders slumped.

“I’m miffed you got so sloshed without me,” Sav went on, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then you decided to call me anyway--you could have just invited me.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to join me here, at home,” Joe said with a slight wave of his arm, sweeping over the kitchen. “Me, drinking alone, I mean. Fuckin’ depressing.”

“ _Why_ were you drinking alone?” 

Joe frowned a bit, took a sip of the tea, then said, “Just a bad day, Sav.”

Sav frowned too. He almost reached over to place his hand over Joe’s forearm but thought better of it. Drunken declarations of love were just that--inebriated ramblings, nothing more. He and Joe were friends--nothing more. Right? 

It wasn’t until Sav got that call that he ever had any hope that there might be something else there. He’d been waiting for Joe to notice but notice _what_? Sav couldn’t do anything about the feelings that bubbled and swirled inside his belly and chest when he looked at Joe, the swirling of hot and cold that had become more intense and hard to ignore with each passing month, each passing year--even broaching the subject would mean an end to their friendship, he was sure of it. He wouldn’t risk it. 

_“Sav, I love you. I love you soooo much--no, no, wait, I have to tell you. I really fuckin’ love you.”_

Joe had said he loved a few things and other people in that phone call, but most of it was spent with him gushing over Sav--Sav’s bass playing, Sav’s hair, the faces Sav makes when he thinks no one is looking at him ( _“Don’t think I never notice, Sav”_ ), Sav’s voice, Sav’s tight pants. Tight pants? That one had thrown Sav for a loop when he heard it, the thought of Joe _checking him out_ sending a shiver of both hope and--he had to admit it--arousal down his spine. That, somewhat unfortunately, was quickly superseded by his rational brain telling him, no, never. Joe would _never_.

“You can talk to me if you’re having a bad day, you know,” Sav said, stating the obvious. Joe usually did--why didn’t he last night, instead of getting wasted alone? He added, with a touch of bitterness, “If you love me so much, you should know that.”

Joe smiled a little. “I know. I just--I just didn’t want to put this on you.”

Sav nodded. “Okay.” Perhaps it was better to let Joe tell him in time. He wasn’t going to pressure him. And he was going to try his damndest not to let the juvenile, naïve hope that this really was somehow about him get the better of him.

Joe glanced over at Sav’s empty hands and suddenly stood up, wobbling slightly. “I didn’t even make you a cup.” 

“Joe, it’s fine,” Sav said, getting up and following him to the stove. “You’re the one who’s hungover. I can make my own tea. How much did you drink anyway?” 

The hangover didn’t stop Joe from clanging away with the tea kettle and cups and Sav saw him wince at the abrupt, sharp sounds; he grabbed his hands away from the kettle and Joe teetered backwards with a huff. “Fine, I’ll let you.” He went to the sink and ran the tap, cupped one hand under cold water and then brought it to his face. “Too much, that’s how much. I’m never drinking again, I’ll tell you that.”

Sav couldn’t help but scoff. “Right. Just don’t drink so much, and certainly not alone.” He forgot all about the tea when he looked over at Joe’s dripping face and hair. With a single tut, he grabbed a dish towel and gently pressed it over his wet skin, mopping up the water. “What is wrong with you?”

Joe tore himself backwards, swatting the dish towel and Sav’s help away. “Nothing.”

Right--nothing. Sav smacked the dish towel down onto the counter and put one hand on his hip. “I’m sympathetic to your hangover but I don’t need you to be passive-aggressive, Joe.”

Joe looked like Sav had kicked him. He went over to the stove again, pushing damp hair away from his eyes as he reached for the neglected cup. “Sorry. Just--just sit down, okay?” 

_“I’m so glad we met. Really, Sav. Where would I be without you?”_

Thinking of the phone call again almost made Sav want to leave. He’d dealt with these strange feelings for too long, kept them internalized and smothered for too long--how long was long enough? He’d been waiting for the feelings to go away, to leave him alone, so he could go back to viewing Joe as simply a friend. Just another man. But, as Sav obliged and sat down at the kitchen table again, he knew that he’d _never_ viewed Joe as just that. 

Joe set the full cup of tea in front of Sav and sat back down, still so unusually quiet that Sav was beginning to feel totally unnerved. He leaned forward and scooped a spoonful of sugar, eyeing Joe from his peripheral: “Are you going to tell me why you had such a bad day?” He leaned back in his chair, stirring in the sugar, and glanced up just long enough to see Joe shift in his seat and take another sip of tea.

It took a minute--a long, uncomfortable minute--but Joe replied: “I thought I was so sure--well, that’s not even it.” He sighed and brought the cup to his lips again. “I never really thought I was sure because it wasn’t something I ever thought about, you know? It just _is_. Er, I suppose, it just was.”

Sav’s heart was pounding with possibility--he’d thought the same things before, but what the hell did Joe mean? What were those abstract thoughts attached to? Sav decided just to listen, letting Joe go on, but all he ended with was, “Do you know what I mean?”

Sav wanted to throw him out the window. “No, Joe. I don’t think so--”

Joe sank lower in the chair, eyes dropping to his tea. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Sav nearly shouted: “Brought _what_ up?” 

There was another long minute, even heavier than the one before, and finally Joe looked up and said quietly, “I had a bad day because I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And I didn’t invite you over because I knew if I did, I’d do something...bad.”

“What? Kill me?” Sav replied, trying to break his own tension more than the tension in the air, but it wasn't enough and Joe didn’t smile. 

“No. I’d never,” Joe said, lifting his chin up. Suddenly his face fell again and he looked so tired, beyond just a hangover, and Sav wanted to touch him again. “I couldn’t stop thinking about _you_ all day.”

So Sav’s instincts, as irrational as he’d thought they might have been, turned out to be right. He processed that statement for a moment, looking into the cup of dark gold liquid in front of himself. “Well, Joe,” he started to say, trying to be careful with his words but his mind was racing. “It seems like you did what you were afraid of doing anyway. That phone call was...intense.” Out of the corner of his eye, Sav saw Joe smile a bit, just one corner of his mouth drifting upwards for a second. 

“So you’re not mad?”

God, fuck no, Sav wasn’t mad. He was relieved, overjoyed, ecstatic, excited--but also scared, scared because he’d done a lot of thinking about what he’d want in a perfect world. He wasn’t so sure Joe had, at least not while sober. More than that, he knew there would be no way to live it out, even if they both wanted to. 

“No,” Sav said. “Not if you meant it.” 

“I meant it,” Joe said quickly, voice nearly back to its normal, nearly booming strength. “I think the booze made me mean it even more, honestly.” 

_“Will you stay on for five more minutes, Sav? I like hearing your voice.”_

Sav lifted his cup of tea to hide the anxious smile on his lips. In hindsight, the drunken phone conversation was so telling--it was just that neither one of them had ever thought the other could really return the feelings. Except Joe, maybe--after all, he’d taken the plunge, even if he had needed the help of half a bottle of vodka. He was lost in his own pondering and reflecting, the ceramic burning against his bottom lip, until Joe reached across the table and urged Sav’s right arm down; Joe’s fingers lightly grazed down his bare forearm then to his hand, turning it over palm facing up and grazed that soft, ticklish skin. 

It was like electricity traveling from Joe’s fingers to Sav’s palms--tiny, sharp sparks of silver that dove into his pores and the lines in his palm, danced over his fingers and flooded down into his wrist. Sav wasn’t sure if he could even move that hand with Joe touching him like that, and he had his doubts about being able to move it whenever Joe stopped touching him. Sav wished he wouldn’t. He wanted Joe’s fingers to stroke him and dance over him for as long as he could get. 

Joe caught Sav’s eye and Sav saw a wave of doubt come over his face. He took away his hand from Sav’s and started to get up from the table, cheeks flushed: “I’m gonna take a shower.” 

Without thinking, Sav groped for Joe’s hand as it lifted off the table and grabbed it. “Wait.” He bit his lip, not sure of what to say next. He’d been waiting for so long. He looked at Joe’s hand in his and focused on the warmth of it for a moment, then looked back up at Joe. “I don’t want anything to change between us.”

“If something changes, it’ll be for the better, no?” Joe replied with a slight shrug, squeezing Sav’s hand; Sav mentally prepared for the physical separation again but Joe remained where he was, their hands still clasped together over the table. 

“For the better?” Sav repeated, heart fluttering. “How?”

“I don’t know exactly how.” Joe, keeping their hands locked, pulled his chair out and forward so close that, when he sat down, his knees were touching Sav’s thigh. Sav’s breath hitched as he watched Joe’s other hand lift itself and reach, then long fingers were running over and through his hair and Joe was pulling him forward while Sav leaning in himself; Joe pressed his forehead against his and blinked at him slowly. “I think whatever happens, as long as we have each other, things will always get better.”

Sav breathed in lemon and ginger, sweat and vodka, and closed his eyes. “You think so?” he asked, and felt Joe’s thumb brush over his wrist. 

“I know that much.” Joe surprised Sav with a quick, barely-there kiss to his lips, so quick Sav didn’t even pull back until Joe was standing up again. “I really should take a shower,” he said, giving Sav’s hand another squeeze before he parted them. When Sav looked up, Joe’s cheeks were even rosier, and he licked his lips quickly as he looked back at him. “You’ll wait for me?”

Sav was having trouble articulating what he was feeling in his mind and there was no chance in hell he’d be able to verbalize it, but he figured he’d have a few minutes to ponder the mess of thoughts while Joe cleaned up. He smiled up at him gently--his very best friend, whom he’d walk to the ends of the earth and back with: “I’ll wait for as long as you need me to.”


End file.
